Disclaimer: Witty comments aside, I do not own Harry Potter. Do not believe otherwise.
Some people say that when a horrible event occurs, time seems to slow down, seems to move at a minute a second. If anything, this situation seemed exactly the opposite.
As soon as Harry's body hit the ground, time appeared to begin to move faster and faster. The five in the corner found themselves unable to concentrate on what was happening. Draco stared mutely at the floor, shell-shocked. Sirius was howling in grief, tears running freely down his face, as he tried to fight to get to his godson's body. Remus was pale, his eyes full of grief. He moved closer to Sirius, mumbling words that even he didn't know the meaning of, the only thought in his head that Harry wouldn't want Sirius to get himself killed.
Luna simply watched Harry's body, as if unsure what to do, knowing Harry was dead and yet somehow also knowing he… wasn't? He couldn't be. He'd already survived death once before; he could survive again, of that Luna was sure. She looked up, a flash of anger in her eyes that was unaccustomed on the face of the happy Ravenclaw.
Even though it felt as if time had raced by, little more than a few seconds had gone; and Voldemort was still staring at Harry's body in what seemed to be dumb-founded surprise. But then he raised his arms in elated joy. "Potter is dead!" And he smiled his twisted, cruel smile, as the death eaters around him let out cheers.
But Voldemort looked around, mid-gloat, and paused as his eyes met Luna's. She gazed at him with a type of knowing in her eyes that infuriated the dark lord for a reason he didn't know. He strode forward and dragged Luna brutally by her hair. The young witch didn't even flinch, her stony gaze silently staring at Voldemort with a cold intensity that only served to further exacerbate the malicious wizard.
"What are you staring at, blood traitor?" he growled. "Your champion is dead; and now, so are you. You should be begging for your life."
Luna blinked. "But Harry wouldn't want me to beg," she replied smoothly before continuing, "And how do you know he's dead?"
Voldemort peered at her uncomprehendingly. One of the death eaters in the room cried out despite his fear of punishment, "He was hit by the killing curse! There's no way he could have survived!"
Voldemort nodded, even as the memory of Harry's survival as a toddler flooded into his mind - in his preoccupation, not even bothering to torture the insolent death eater.
Luna, meanwhile, was glancing between Voldemort and Harry with an unending curiosity. "Are you saying that you can tell when someone has died? Is that a side effect of making too many horcruxes? Is it just the way the killing curse works? Does it form a sort of connection with the one you use the curse against that's severed as soon as they pass on? That would explain quite a bit about Harry's scar…" Luna drifted off into contemplative silence as she waited for Voldemort to answer.
Voldemort focused down at her, a myriad of emotions passing over his face from surprise to fury to acrimony and then settling on disgust. He threw Luna to the ground harshly before turning to his death eaters with murderous intent in his eyes. "Check him," he ordered. The death eater hesitated, and Voldemort casually crucio-ed him with a flick of his wand.
He turned to the next death eater closest to him, who took in the sight of his writhing companion with horror. "You. Check him." His voice was cold as ice, and this death eater didn't hesitate as the one before him had. The death eater knelt down next to Harry's body, pressing a finger to the fallen hero's neck to check for a pulse.
Even in his shock at Harry dropping dead, Draco couldn't help but sneer in disgust at the action. 'Half-blood.'
The death eater stood up, a blindingly relieved smile spread across his face. "Dead, my Lord."
A small expression of relief flickered over Voldemort's nose-less face, almost too quick and too foreign on him to be recognized by those gathered. The death eaters began to celebrate again, and Sirius slumped over in desolation, cursing himself for the slight hope he'd had that Harry might have survived. Remus sat right next to the broken godfather, supporting him, even as a low keen of pain escaped the werewolf's throat. Now, Draco grimaced in anger and, perhaps, regret, but most certainly in fear of what would happen next. Lucas couldn't help growling, subdued but feral, as he attempted to comprehend the thought of Harry being dead and what that meant for his clan. Luna looked over at Harry's body, silent.
A maniacal glint shone in Voldemort's eyes as he studied Luna, who lay on the floor by his feet. Once more, she didn't react, even as his foot connected with her side, kicking her over. "Crucio."
Luna remained quiet, even as her body twitched and flailed, before losing her control and letting loose a high-pitched scream. This continued for several minutes until Luna passed out. Voldemort tortured her still, though; and her body continued to flinch and spasm under the barrage of pain the crucio spell dealt to her body.
Even the death eaters looked at each other uneasily and queasily at the display of sickening cruelty. Finally, unable to watch any longer, Sirius lunged forward in a restricted motion to knock down the death eater next to him. He managed, if only barely; and the stolen wands rolled out of the wizard's roes. Voldemort ended the spell and found himself staring down at Sirius Black, who had used the wand to wordlessly unchain himself and was now pointing said wand straight at the dark lord.
Voldemort let out a high, heartless laugh and moved to the side to dodge the spell Sirius sent his way. With a flash, Sirius found himself disarmed and thrown against the wall. With another flash, he found himself bleeding from two cutting hexes, one on his shoulder and the other on his abdomen, but neither very deep. Two more appeared, on his right arm and hip, this time deeper.
Sirius let out a cry of torment, and a slow smile formed on Voldemort's face. "Oh, so you don't like me torturing the Lovegood girl, do you, traitor?" The smile dropped off his face completely. "Now that Potter's dead, you'd like to play the hero?" Sirius attempted to push himself up off the wall and launch himself at Voldemort.
"No, no," Voldemort purred, catching the animagus in the air mid-lunge. "Someone just can't seem to comprehend the fact that his precious godson is dead. And he won't be coming back - no survival, no miraculous return from the brink of death. He's gone, and your world will bow to my will."
Voldemort let Sirius drop to the floor in a disheveled and bruised heap. "But, unfortunately, you won't be here to see the wizarding world rise to its peak under my rule. I wouldn't worry, though; you'll be far too busy catching up with Harry and his parents to miss much." Voldemort raised his wand and, for the second time that day, prepared to use the killing curse on Sirius Black. But before Voldemort could even open his mouth to utter the words, something rose up behind him; and the sleek, cool wooden tip of a wand pressed up against his neck.
"Actually, he can catch up with me fine right here."
Voldemort's eyes widened, and gasps rose up around him. He was moved to the side by the wand's guiding force before he whirled around in a somewhat drunken, fury-driven circle and stared into cold emerald eyes.
"So sorry I had to step out for a while. Miss me?"
If it were possible to spontaneously combust out of pure rage, Voldemort, at that moment, would have.
Harry blinked. He was lying face down on the floor. He resisted the urge to jump up off the dirty ground that still smelled slightly of blood from some poor person Voldemort had tortured earlier, and he instead crinkled his nose in disgust. He did not move, though his eyes roved around the room.
Not that anyone would have noticed right away that he was awake, even if he had moved, because all the eyes in the room were on Voldemort. Harry couldn't see his friends, who were blocked by Lord Voldemort, who was ranting about something or other. Harry ignored it in favor of focusing on the moment – more specifically, on not itching.
Yeah.
Apparently, being brought back to life itched. A lot. And Dave hadn't told him.
Harry flinched as his back spasmed in an urge to be scratched, and he made a mental note to get revenge on Dave later. …After freeing the enslaved dementor lord and his subjects. Darnit, the dementor would be too high on his own freedom to be bothered by anything Harry did for a while. Harry grinned and then flinched again as another prickle ran up his arm. He would just need to make his revenge long-winded, then.
"…dead." Harry tilted his head a tad over at Voldemort when the wizard emphasized that word. "And he won't be coming back - no survival, no miraculous return from the brink of death." Harry slowly and carefully lifted himself off the floor as Voldemort continued to speak, and the young protagonist silently crept forward. "He's gone, and your world will bow to my will."
Harry heard a dull thud, and he moved to the left just enough to peer around Voldemort's body and see a bloody Sirius fall to the ground next to the wall. But even more so, he moved to the left enough to see Luna. Harry's blood turned to ice as he took in her unconscious form, limp and bruised. She had obviously been flailing around and had not been restrained to keep her limbs from smacking against the hard stone floor. A faint smear of blood tainted her lips, painting them red and indicating she had some sort of internal bleeding.
Harry's hands trembled as he forced himself to move forward calmly, not wanting to lose control and kill the dark lord while his back was turned. Harry wasn't that kind of coward. The death eaters in the room finally began to notice Harry as he stepped closer to Voldemort, but they seemed unsure of whether or not they wanted to risk interrupting Voldemort's monologue to deliver the bad and unbelievable news. They shifted nervously, and as this drew Bellatrix's gaze over to Harry, the hero quickly stunned her before she could react. The death eaters seemed to take this as enough of an incentive to let Harry and Voldemort duke it out. After all, death eaters – the sane ones, at least – were nothing if not backstabbing.
"But unfortunately, you won't be here to see the wizarding world rise to its peak under my rule. But I wouldn't worry; you'll be far too busy catching up with Harry and his parents to miss much."
As Harry stopped just shy of Voldemort's back, he wondered how Voldemort had come to be the greatest dark lord of all time if he couldn't even tell when someone was behind him, especially since Harry was positively oozing murderous intent. He decided it must have been a lack of competition.
Voldemort raised his wand and aimed it directly at Sirius' heart. Harry smirked as he raised his own wand and pressed it into the exposed skin of Voldemort's neck. "Actually, he can catch up with me fine right here."
Around him, the death eaters gasped. Harry pushed the tip of the wand harder into Voldemort's neck and used it to move Voldemort to the side, freeing up vision of himself to his friends. Sirius, from his vantage point on the floor, just stared, completely believing that his being launched into the wall had thrown his mind into delusion. Harry felt a surge of sympathy for his godfather (at least in some sense, they had both denounced each other and hated each other for a while; but now that they were reconciled… well, whatever) even as Harry himself was about to knowingly take someone's life for the first time and therefore deserved a rather larger amount of sympathy.
The poor man had been blamed for his best friend's death, sent to Azkaban for twelve years, escaped, returned to find his godson in near constant peril, had been stuck up in Grimmauld Place for quite a while, had believed his godson was a murderer, and had watched him be sent to Azkaban himself (Harry was still peeved about this, though). He had found out his godson was innocent and that he had failed in his duty as a godfather and had gone against the only leader of the light – whom he had followed diligently for most of his life – for his godson. He had been captured and tortured, had watched his godson die, and now had to watch him come back to life. All this, and not to mention all of the worry and fear he'd been put through.
In some ways, the man almost deserved pity; Harry certainly agreed that his life kind of sucked. Despite his lingering anger at the man and the betrayal he still felt, Harry wasn't cold hearted enough not to feel bad. Harry flashed Sirius a quick smile that made the animagus flinch. The haunted gaze in his eyes made it clear that the wizard believed he was being punished by the ghost of his godson for having failed him so miserably in life.
Remus was looking at Harry in an open-faced mixture of joy and disbelief. He, too, had failed Harry; but not in nearly so severe and damaging a way as Sirius had. Though, Juan had pointed out that he should have at least checked up on Harry as a child. So the werewolf was much more open to believing that Harry had survived once again, having never experienced the deliriums and phantoms that Azkaban provided. And yet, Harry still felt a sense of warmth for the older wizard, despite his sharp disappointment with the werewolf and the whole lot of the wizarding world that was still ever present.
Lucas had given up all pretext of being surprised by Harry's actions – for all he knew, returning from the dead was a regularly occurring thing for him; he'd already done it once before – and was instead watching the happenings with steely eyes. Draco was paler than usual, but as he'd already seen Harry escape death so many times, he was able to watch the proceedings calculatingly.
Voldemort whirled around to glare at Harry in a startled way. Harry took a deep, steady breath, acutely aware of all the eyes on him, and said with as much bravado as physically possible, "So sorry I had to step out for a while. Miss me?" Harry felt a perverse sort of enjoyment as he watched Voldemort's face turn several different shades of red.
Finally, he seemed to gain control of his mouth and hissed, "How are you alive, Potter?"
Harry smiled. "I think a better question would be 'why are you alive?'"
Voldemort recovered enough to say, "Fine, brat, why are you alive?" He was obviously still stunned if he was letting Harry order him around.
"To kill you."
Voldemort let out a somewhat fake laugh. "If you truly think you can, pest," he said in a condescending manner.
Harry snorted. "Please, we've already proven that you are completely incapable of killing me, so now it's my turn to try. And I won't fail like you have, Tommy-boy."
Voldemort's eyes flashed in anger. "I cannot be killed, Potter. You're wasting your time, and it's pathetic that after all these years you still try to defeat me.
"Really? Really?" Harry asked disbelievingly, realizing that Voldemort truly thought that. He'd spent so long twisting others minds to make them believe he was invincible that, over the years, Voldemort had fallen prey to the same dangerous pride that had allowed him to take control over a large part of the wizarding world. The idea that you could not ever lose, that what your life was wouldn't, couldn't be destroyed; something the wizarding world of old had, as a whole, experienced and that so many present-day ministry officials, and now Voldemort, also shared.
Harry continued with renewed vehemence, "You've been trying to kill me since a few months before I was born. I didn't even start 'trying' to defeat you personally until around fourth year, really. Before that, I was just trying to get by when you started unsuccessfully attacking me and successfully complicating my life. So, really, I've only been trying to kill you for around six years."
"But unlike you, I've succeeded at killing you, Potter," Voldemort countered, seeming to grow angrier and more frustrated by the second. No one around them had any idea what the heck was going on and why no one had killed the other yet.
Draco was just shaking his head in a contemptuous manner, muttering under his breath about "stupid Gryffindor mentalities" and "why didn't you just kill him when his back was turned?" and "getting into a verbal sparring match with the darkest lord of all time."
Harry ignored the quite audible young wizard and smirked. "You've already died seven times before; the only difference is that this time, you'll die completely."
Voldemort's eyes widened at the obtuse reference to his horcruxes, and he stepped back to point his wand straight at Harry's heart. Harry let him, but kept his own wand held tightly in his hands. "I can't die, Potter," Voldemort snarled, as if to convince everyone watching of the truth of his words, "But you will. Avada Kadavera!"
Harry shifted to the side to avoid the stream of green light shot at his chest. It was followed by another, which Harry dodged by moving to the side again. "You'd think that, since you're a 'dark lord' and everything, you'd know a few more spells than just the killing curse and crucio," Harry taunted as he dodged another of the green-lighted curses.
He didn't quite know why he was delaying. Maybe he just didn't want to end this pattern of fighting that his life had fallen into. Maybe he just didn't want to kill another human – no matter how little humanity was left in that being. Harry dodged another curse from the infuriated Voldemort by ducking down to the side, before taking a deep breath.
Calmly lifting up his arm, which trembled slightly, Harry began to utter his two least favorite words in the world. "Ava–" Harry stopped and paused.
"What, Potter, too much of a coward to use it?" Voldemort laughed, sending another killing curse at Harry's body. But his breath was beginning to come in shorter and shorter gasps and his killing curses at longer and longer intervals. The power used behind the spells was taking its toll on him, as his face had paled; and the menacing glare he directed at Harry suddenly seemed tired and lackluster. "Can't stand to use the same spell that killed you weakling parents? They deserved a gutless son like you."
Harry's mind froze. His body moved in a numb trance-like state as he picked himself out of the crouch he'd fallen into while evading Voldemort's attack. Before he could even register what was happening, his wand was raised, and his lips formed the words, "Deprimo," for a curse that blasts a hole through the target. Harry's eyes widened as the curse met Voldemort's in midair, and both spells paused.
It was as if both had mysteriously run up against an extremel, thin, invisible barrier. Whether it was the intent behind his spell or the that fact that he'd spent the last three years struggling to use spells against the magic-repelling dementors, Harry did not know; but his spell cut through the green light of the killing curse and shot into Voldemort's wand. Nothing happened. Everyone stayed paused for several minutes, and still, nothing happened. Harry glanced from his wand to Voldemort's wand in confusion and a disheartened spirit.
Voldemort looked down at his own wand, and a gloating smile overtook his face. "Nice try, Potter, but you've failed." He laughed manically, but Harry was so disconcerted as to what had happened and disappointed at the result that he didn't even call the dark wizard on being a cliché.
Voldemort raised his wand again, and Harry pulled his own up again in response; but before either of the two could even open their mouths again, Voldemort's wand cracked. Right down the middle. There wasn't even a noise made as the wand fell into two pieces, revealing the phoenix core underneath the sleek wood. And as the wand broke in half, a tremor of magical backlash ran up Voldemort's arm and into his body and, upon hitting his magical core, pushed such a rush of magic through his system that froze his core – permanently.
The was no great explosion, no loud crack, no burst of light, and no hundreds of munchkins jumping out of random crevices in the room to sing "ding dong, the witch is dead!" To the outward beholder, all that would be seen was a slight widening of Voldemort's eyes, and all that would be heard would be a dull thud as Voldemort's body crashed to the floor, dead – permanently.
But Harry wasn't an outward beholder, and he knew – he knew with sickening clarity – that Voldemort was dead because of his spell, because of him.
Silence reigned as the inhabitants of the room stared in shock at the fallen dark wizard – the death eaters as if willing him to get back up, the captives as if that body held the key to all happiness in life (or, in Sirius' case, all that and a bottle of firewhiskey), and Harry in a contemplative mixture of horror and relief.
Harry crouched down next to Voldemort's body and, with a trembling arm, shut the dark lord's eyelid, giving him – in death – some of the respect that he had craved in life.
A sense of numbness invaded him as he sat huddled there, next to a body that was drained of life, drained of life by his hand, Harry's hand. He had done the worst thing any one person could do; he had stolen the life of another. Regardless of how many lives Voldemort himself had taken, Harry felt a wave of disgust and anguish wash over him; and, for a second, he was forced to resist the urge to scream.
Harry had stolen something from Voldemort, something irreplaceable; and in doing so, something precious had been stolen from him as well.
He wanted to scream at everyone gathered there, at everyone who had been telling him what to do in his life, at the wizarding world in general. No one had told him how horrible it would feel to kill Voldemort! No one had told him how dirty he'd feel or how much he'd hate himself for doing just what he'd been told his entire life to do!
And then… the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and Harry could only feel relief. He would later chalk his fluctuating emotions up to the draining of his magic resulting from fighting Voldemort as, suddenly, Harry felt completely and utterly exhausted.
He swayed back on his feet only to be steadied by a pair of strong arms, which lifted him up and out of his crouch by Voldemort's side and carried him back a few steps. Harry glanced up in dull surprise to see Sirius' beaming face.
"You did it, pup," Sirius said softly, pride shining on his face, turning Harry around to pull him into a tight hug. Harry smiled and, for the first time in years, relaxed into his godfather's hold. And then he found himself gently removed from a protesting Sirius's arms and pulled into Remus's.
The two spent the next few minutes fussing over Harry, patting him down for injuries, touching him just to make sure he was alive, and murmuring soft reassurances to him that seemed more to be reassurances to themselves than they were to him.
Harry contentedly allowed himself to be fawned over, ignoring any thoughts as to what would happen next; where Draco, Luna, and Lucas were; and just how they'd escaped from their chains; instead just basking in knowing that it was over. But then his eyes opened.
"Huh?" He jumped back into Sirius' chest in surprise as he found himself staring into Luna's eyes. "Luna!"
"Harry," she smiled, and Harry pulled himself out of Sirius and Remus' grips to grab Luna in a hug, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. "Are you alright?" Luna stared up at Harry seriously, concern in her gaze.
Harry smiled tenderly. "I'm fine. Or, I will be, once I have a chance to grab some sleep."
Luna nodded earnestly and pulled Harry down so that she could kiss both of his cheeks. "And I'll cook you some of daddy's famous Freshwater Plimpies soup in case you are hungry when you wake up."
Harry beamed down at her before bringing his attention up in a rush. Draco and Lucas stood by the corner, both still looking unsure if what had just happened had really just happened. The death eaters had all vacated the room in panic, except for Bellatrix, who sat on the floor, unconscious and tied up by the chains that had been holding Harry's companions just minutes before.
Harry scanned the room hungrily, though, disappointed and worried by what he saw. He felt his pulse quicken and removed himself from Luna's arms to move forward into the center of the room.
What about the dementors?
There was no sign of them anywhere. Harry glanced down at his hands, checking them over curiously and critically. He didn't feel any different; did he truly have control over the demento–
Suddenly, Harry felt a hurricane-like volume of magic swirl up around him and rush into his body in a surreal manner. Harry nearly fell down to the ground and was caught once more by Sirius as the magic overloaded his senses, and he lost his perception of up and down. And then, Harry could feel them, all of the dementors.
Every one of their presences filled his mind, and he knew without a doubt that he could make them do anything he wanted. Anything at all. He had absolute control over their lives, and Harry felt a rush of elation tear through him only to be followed immediately by fear and horror - both at the power and at the feeling it brought him.
And then, more than anything, Harry wanted them gone, out of his mind; wanted not to have this control, this power. If he couldn't get it out, he felt he might go insane from the built up pressure of the power and of their minds.
Harry gently pulled himself out of Sirius' once again frightened hold and drew himself up to his full height. Gritting his teeth, Harry forcefully shouted, "Solvo meus mancipium, irretitus in despero left ut putesco pro enternity in suum disfigurement. Solvo meus mancipium, irretitus in despero left ut putesco pro enternity in suum disfigurement!"
And for one long moment, nothing changed. Harry was still in possession of the power, that horrible power, and he felt as if he would go mad with the absolute… need to control the dementors it gave him, pushing him to command them and force them to bend to his will. He hoped to his very core that it was just another magical build up causing the delay from the sheer force of them magic behind the spell, same as the delay that had resulted before he gained the power to control the dementors, as his magical had been forced to prepare to handle that much magic.
But finally, the spell controlling the dementors rose inside of him - slowly, almost petulantly - as if proving that it would leave on its time and not his. It rushed out of him, overloading his body, and disintegrated in the air, leaving behind a strange sense of absence in the room.
Harry collapsed once more, feeling like a marionette jerked in every direction by magic's whims and desires. And even as Harry was crowded around in a small mob of concern, and he raised a hand up to soothe his now aching head, Harry felt the most genuine of all smiles stretch over his face; and a soft sigh of euphoria rolled from his lips. Now he truly had finished. Now he truly had accomplished something worthwhile.
"Harry! Harry! Don't pass out, Harry! Wake up!"
Harry opened one heavy-lidded eye and quirked an eyebrow at the panicked Sirius' face, which was shoved a mere few inches from his own. He seemed to have forgotten the idea of personal space in his concern. Harry's death had taken its toll on his godfather's nerves, and said godfather seemed to have taken Harry's soft sigh as warning that he was about to die again.
Harry resisted the urge to groan, knowing that would only make things worse for him. Now he was going to have to spend the next few days convincing his two sort-of-guardians that he wasn't going to spontaneously combust anytime soon. And then he was going to have to spend the next few months walking on eggshells so as not to injure himself or cause their hyper-protectiveness to flare up. 'Oh, no, a paper cut! Is that blood I see? Is it? He's going to bleed to death! Quick, call a healer! I'll go grab all the gauze and semi-absorbent materials in existence to smother the extreme bleeding as we wait!'
Just as Harry opened his mouth to tiredly diffuse the situation, a voice cried out, "Harry!"
'Augh, why can't people stop calling my name?' He thought agitatedly, before recognition flooded his senses; and his head snapped up, all traces of his exhaustion momentarily gone. "Juan!"
Ok, so, um, sorry about the wait. Life has been really, really crazy lately. Let's just say that one summer filled to the brim with tennis and then the start of a school year with tennis season, an AP class, and several honors classes doesn't leave much time for writing.
Honestly, though, this wouldn't have taken nearly so long if it hadn't been for my deep-seated hatred for typing. Seriously, it sucks.
Now, first of all, ATTENTION, ALL PEOPLE WHO SKIP A/N'S!
I really need you guys to either go on the poll on my page or respond here, but I am in serious need of input on how to repost this story. Should I just make it into a separate revised story, replace each chapter on this story one by one, or replace all the chapters in this one all at once? I am not done with all of the revisions, (not hardly) but there will be minor-to-medium plot changes. Nothing truly too substantial, though.
And, to all of my wonderful reviewers: I truly appreciate all of the reviews, and the only reason I don't respond to them anymore is because I am no longer allowed by fnet because I don't allow PMs. And before you ask, no, I can't allow them – it's one of the conditions for me even being allowed on this site in the first place.
But know that I truly adore all of you, I read each review, and I will attempt to address any major questions in the A/N of the next chapter.
Now, lastly, there will be around 3 more chapters, with an epilogue, and an alternate ending. This is actually part 1 of the original chapter 24, but my sister talked me into shortening it because she says it's easier to read in smaller increments (and for her to beta). But never fear, I actually have the second half (which I'll just go ahead and call chapter 25) finished and will post it as within the next week or so, as soon as my sister looks through it.
With love, Blueskyes101